


(I knew that from the start)

by snoopypez



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Quentin Coldwater, Coming Out, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/pseuds/snoopypez
Summary: He stopped trying to explain the difference between fear and anxiety a long time ago.





	(I knew that from the start)

**Author's Note:**

> apparently it is bi-week, and apparently it falls on the 5 month-iversary of The Shitshow, so why not celebrate with a little bi quentin, i say. inspired by The Quote; you know the one. the one jason ralph said about q's sexuality being the only thing he's not anxious about. 
> 
> wow i vomited this out in almost one go, and that never happens, soooo uh, unbeta-ed and stuff.

Quentin’s parents used to joke that he came out of the womb terrified about everything. It was never the best joke, considering _all_ babies probably came out like that; they were all brand new to the world, what was there to be _calm_ about?--but they’d say it every time he had a panic attack or mild breakdown for the first handfuls of his life. 

He stopped trying to explain the difference between fear and anxiety a long time ago.

When he was in preschool, he wouldn’t ask to use the play-doh. He’d wait until it was left alone by the other kids, then scurry over and grab it, take it back to his spot near the corner, and entertain himself. In first grade, he’d shrug and pretend he didn’t know the answers because having everyone’s eyes trained on him made his heart race and his palms sweaty. 

After Julia made friends with him--because he sure didn’t make _that_ first move--in third grade, he could at least focus on her and that made it easier to speak in class. But it sort of backfired, because then he’d start rambling and tripping over his words, not really knowing when to take the natural end of a sentence, and then kids laughed at him anyway. 

He worried about every homework assignment he did, even the ones he _knew_ he knew the material for, backwards and forwards. He’d recheck everything four times each, bring his books to the dinner table--which had the added benefit of tuning out his parents’ arguments--and feel completely convinced that he would fail out of elementary school, only to receive As and Bs across the board. 

Logic has never dictated anxiety. 

And then it wasn’t just that anymore. It was sudden bouts of overwhelming fatigue, darkness and misery. When he was younger, it meant locking himself in his room and crying more than any boy in double-digits ever should. It meant sitting at the table and forcing himself to eat a carrot or two whenever his father looked over and then hiding the rest under napkins.

It meant falling asleep in class and no longer _caring_ if he flunked out.

The caring would always come back, stronger than before, along with some new worries. Quentin rarely shut up about the worries; Julia was a saint for putting up with him. 

In high school, realizing his feelings for her came with another brain-sabotaging certainty: that he would, of course, push her away in the end, that she would be disgusted by him. He rarely ever remembered what it felt like to be purely _happy_\--not when every day was full of wondering if he wrote that day’s assignments down correctly; worrying that his zipper was down any time he passed a large group in the halls; thinking about if anyone other than his dad and Julia and James would miss him.

Sometimes it wasn’t that bad. 

Sometimes he thought his _mother_ might miss him, too.

Medication has never been a miracle cure. It made it so that he could go back to school and not immediately relapse just from knowing that everyone _knew_. 

But it never stopped the rambling, and it never stopped the fixations, and it never fully stopped the lingering anxiousness over every stupid little thing that could go wrong in his life. It _did_ stop him from making a list of those things, though, and that sometimes felt like a miracle by itself. 

It made it a little easier to laugh at himself when he stumbled in front of another person, made it a little easier to accept praise for a well-written essay. It didn’t make the dark thoughts go away completely, but it made it a little easier to _fight_ them.

*

Sometimes, Quentin thinks he is doomed to have a crush on anyone that’s nice to him. 

(It would be a few years before he realizes they don’t have to be particularly _nice_ to him for the crush to still exist.)

He’s quiet about it, the way he is about a lot of things until someone gets him started on it, and maybe that explains why Julia is so surprised when it happens. When they’re in his room one day after school, Julia on his computer and the door open because _rules_. She gasps, then turns all her kind-eyed attention on Quentin and says:

“Q...I’m sorry, I wasn’t snooping, but. Your open tabs. Did...did you think you couldn’t tell me?”

Quentin looks up from his annual Fillory reread and has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. He tries to remember what tabs he has open that could make her give him That Look, that ‘sympathetic and understanding and please don’t have a panic attack’ Look.

Nothing comes to mind.

Even when she clicks on the tabs in question, revealing an LGBT forum for teens, and a website with...not quite naked men plastered all over it, he doesn’t get it. Sure, he’s _embarrassed_, because who wants to be caught looking at softcore porn? But that doesn’t explain her _face_.

But then she repeats herself. “_Did_ you think you couldn’t tell me?”

And he says, without thinking, “tell you _what_?”

“Quentin. Are you...are you gay?”

She looks like she’s bracing herself for a full meltdown.

“...I’m bi,” Quentin says, calmly but also judgmentally. Because: “You...you knew that.”

At least now her expression changes. “What??”

“Jules, I talk to you about guys all the time! I’m _pretty sure_ I once said something about wanting to have the Tenth Doctor’s babies! I--” Frustrated, he waves both arms at a Lord of the Rings poster that focuses on Aragorn more than anyone else. 

“I...guess I sort of wondered, before, but I didn’t--” Before she can continue, Quentin’s father pops his head in to say hi, and Julia jolts in more surprise, then practically throws herself in front of the computer screen. “Hi! We’re good, right, Q? Thanks! Hi! Okay!”

This is the most awkward Quentin has ever seen her, outside of the earliest flirtations with James. 

When it’s just them again, Julia sighs and slumps forward. “Sorry, I just - didn’t want him to see--or hear--”

“He already knows.”

That seems to throw her more than anything else. “...oh.”

“I’ve never actually...hidden it. From anyone.”

“But you--this never had anything to do with, I mean--when you...” She bites her lip, clearly not wanting to say the words. Quentin knows the feeling, so he just smiles, sad but sincere, until she continues. “I never...said anything, even when I thought that maybe... I didn’t want you to - you know.”

“Spiral into a depressive blackout?” He supposes he can’t blame her for that.

And she nods, apologetic. “I guess I just can’t believe you’re so...calm about it. I mean, no offence, and I’m _glad_ you are, but. Why is this the only thing your anxiety doesn’t touch?”

Quentin thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. His smile deepens when he realizes just how true it is.

“Just never has.”


End file.
